Filling In the Blanks
by KelleBelle
Summary: Huddy. House has a patient who can't remember, and a Dean of Medicine who can't forget. Takes place after "Let Them Eat Cake" Season 5 Episode 10 .


Less than twenty minutes after Cuddy had officially vacated his office and moved back into her own, House had called Wilson in to help him exorcise "Cuddy cooties," which in House's language was code for "have Wilson file last month's case records while I watch."

"Ten Easy Ways to Take Control of Your Life?" Wilson said, raising his eyebrows as he lifted a brightly colored pamphlet out of the stack of manila folders on House's desk. "Where did you get this?"

House finished opening a pack of batteries and replaced the ones in his Game Boy before he glanced up to see what Wilson was talking about. "Cameron must have left it in my desk drawer back when she still thought she could save me."

"And Cuddy found it after she took over your desk and then cleverly left it for you to find in your case files?"

"I wouldn't call that clever since she knows I never read any of my case files." House shuddered for effect as he thought about Cuddy pawing through his desk drawers. "Not even her cleavage could make that invasion any less hostile," he continued, setting down his Game Boy and thumping his cane on his office floor in triumph. "She may have won the battle, but she lost the war."

"Hmm," Wilson said, setting the pamphlet back down on House's desk.

House rolled his eyes. "Do you think if I wish hard enough, you'll stop trying to subtly imply things about me and Cuddy and go back to being my bestest buddy?"

"I'm not implying anything."

"Your 'hmms' always imply something."

"I think you left a pretty big implication in Cuddy's office."

"I don't care what she says, that toilet didn't mean anything. I never proposed to her," House said.

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes for effect. "Well, by leaving the pamphlet on your desk I'm implying that you should give it a look."

"You're projecting. I'm not the one who feels his life is so out of control he has to take antidepressants," House said, staring pointedly at Wilson.

"That's my point. If you're not going to medicate—"

House interrupted him by making a show of shaking his bottle of Vicodin and popping two pills in his mouth.

Wilson sighed and got up to leave, but turned around one last time to look at House with his most annoyingly earnest expression. "You're not going to stay miserable forever, House."

"Only until the next issue of _Playboy_ comes out," House agreed, but Wilson had already let the glass door close behind him.

Alone in his office, House went to sit down. He had to readjust his chair—Cuddy was at least a foot shorter than him, and her ridiculously high heels didn't help make up the difference while seated—and went about reclaiming his territory.

**1. Begin Small**

_Once you have a goal in mind, getting started can seem daunting. By breaking your goal down into small steps, success is easier to envision. Having a strategy gives you control over your life's new direction!_

House barged into Cuddy's office around eleven, which was an hour later than she expected after hearing he'd threatened the radiologists again.

Cuddy didn't look up from the form she was filling out as she heard House's cane tap impatiently against her floor. "Go away, House. You have to wait your turn just like everyone else."

"Having a good morning, Cuddy?"

Cuddy's hand stilled and she finally looked up from her mountain of paperwork, her eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"No reason," House said, shrugging his innocence. "I was just inquiring about the well-being of a colleague."

Cuddy met his blue eyes for as long as she could without letting her glance dip lower to his mouth. "As a matter of fact I am, and I'm hoping to have a good afternoon and evening , too, as long as you don't incite a revolution or skip out on clinic hours."

"I'm flattered you consider those events equally likely."

Cuddy put down her pen and folded her hands on her desk as if talking to a particularly troublesome five-year-old, which was, she thought, disappointingly accurate. "House, what do you want?"

"To make sure your day runs as smoothly as possible," House said matter-of-factly, glancing around her office. "Do you have enough pens? Full ink cartridges? Refills for the chamomile tea you keep in your bottom drawer?"

Cuddy's mouth dropped open in surprise. "How do you know about that? I only moved back in yesterday!"

"Oh, relax. You always keep your tea in the bottom drawer. And I could have guessed the flavor even if Kutner hadn't provided a very detailed inventory."

"Kutner was in my desk?" she asked, indignant.

"Before you got here. I told the team the early bird gets the worm. Or in this case, the key to Cuddy's new office door."

Cuddy shook her head, and debated the wisdom of bothering with a locksmith—it was House, after all, and he was a force of nature that nothing and no one could keep out—but House cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts.

"Don't worry, I got them back," he said, patting the trouser pocket on his good leg. "Do you need anything, or should I keep the team refilling the tongue depressors in the clinic until the radiologists agree to let me play?"

Cuddy sighed. She had enough to worry about today after last week's SWAT-team blowing holes through her walls and leaving black scuff marks on her polished floors without puzzling over House's erratic behavior. At least this week she was down to only one maniac.

"I'm fine. Go fix your patient," Cuddy said, turning back to her paperwork. She didn't watch House leave her office, but a few seconds after she heard the door click shut she leaned back in her chair and gingerly opened the bottom drawer, half-expecting something to jump out at her.

But there was nothing there except for her box of tea, next to an empty mug.

**2. Write Things Down**

_Writing down the things that are important to you can help give you direction. Recognize the things that fulfill you, and then find ways to pursue them._

"Differential diagnosis for retrograde amnesia," House said, fiddling with the marker before putting it back down.

"You didn't write anything on the board," Kutner protested.

"Obviously. The blank board represents her blank mind," House said.

"The most common cause of amnesia is head trauma," Taub said.

"It's not head trauma. It could be Transient Global Amnesia. Twenty-four hours and she'll be fine," Thirteen said.

"How do you know it's not head trauma?" Taub protested.

"Because if it was head trauma House wouldn't have taken the case," Thirteen said.

"If the patient had Transient Global Amnesia we wouldn't be discussing this either," Taub argued.

"Maybe we should just ask the patient if she's hit her head recently? Oh wait," House said sarcastically. "I forgot."

Kutner cleared his throat. "It could be Dissociative Fugue," he said. "That's caused by psychological trauma, not physical trauma, so it wouldn't show up on a CT scan."

"That's incredibly unlikely," Thirteen disagreed. "We should run blood tests to see if there's any infection. An abscess in the brain could cause memory problems."

"So could drugs," Kutner said. "That's more likely than a brain infection."

"I don't care what they told you in school, smokin' the ganja won't impair your memory," House said. He looked at the blank board, then turned back to his team. "All right. Kutner, go check all reports filed for missing persons in the past week. We won't get a patient history if our patient can't tell us her name, let alone whether her great-grandma had Alzheimer's. Check all records for Caucasian females aged 18-25. Thirteen, go get some blood and do a full workup. Include heavy metals in the tox screen. We don't know her occupation, so assume she works in a lead factory. Taub, go scan her and check for signs of plastic surgery."

His team stared at him.

"What? She could be a CIA operative who needed a disguise, and then forgot it was just pretend. Or she could be in the Witness Protection Program. Her breasts tell me we're dealing with a rogue."

"I'll make sure her C-cups aren't throwing us off," Taub said, tucking his clipboard underneath his arm. He followed Kutner and Thirteen out of the room.

"House!" a loud voice shouted.

"Oh, here we go," House muttered, turning around to see Cuddy stalking into the room as the team made an expedient getaway.

"You can't seriously think your patient is a CIA operative!"

"Hey, I happen to have an insider's understanding of the CIA," House said. "I was called out on a secret mission, remember?"

Cuddy glared at him. "You're wasting your time looking for breast implants!"

"This isn't chauvinism, Cuddy. Not every woman was born with a rack as naturally bountiful as yours."

"Unless a side effect of silicone implants is memory loss, which last time I checked it's _not_—"

"Oh relax. I was kidding," House said. "We'd have to scan her body anyway for signs of trauma. Taub's doing the same MRI I would have ordered even if our mysterious patient was as flat as Cameron. Or Chase, for that matter."

Cuddy put her hands on her hips. "I don't want to hear about any frivolous tests. I want this case handled professionally."

"I never handle cases professionally," House said slowly, moving so close to Cuddy that if he looked down he'd get a great view of her cleavage. "And you know that. Which means you came up here just to needle me. The question is, why."

Cuddy's eyes narrowed. "Believe it or not, I may have a motive besides pissing you off. Like oh, I don't know, irunning a hospital./i"

"That's not it," House argued, his voice coming out low, almost a growl. "You've never come up here to find out what tests I've ordered unless someone comes running to you to rat me out. Which means you're back in my office again for the same reason you were here earlier this week."

"You're wrong," Cuddy said, her lips tightening into a straight line.

"How do you like your new desk?" House said abruptly. He could see by the way her eyes widened that she wasn't expecting the change of direction.

"It's not what I asked for," she said icily.

House paused. He hadn't expected her to throw herself at him again—not after the botched boob grab—but he hadn't expected outright hostility, either. He steeled his expression into his most casually mocking. "Well, it might not be what you wanted, but you can't always get what you want."

Cuddy smiled grimly at him. "Lucky for me."

House stared after her as she walked out. Cuddy wasn't self-deprecating by nature; she was too confident for that. So her comment was obviously meant as an insult to _him_—she meant that she was _glad_ he hadn't taken her up on the offer to kiss her. Which meant she didn't want him to kiss her anymore.

Or at least she didn't want to want to kiss him anymore.

House tapped his cane on the floor a few times, letting the steady ithumps/i fill the silence in the room after the clicking sounds of Cuddy's heels had faded. His gaze traveled back to the board. He limped over, and started to write.

**3. Exercise**

_Exercise is not only good for your physical health, it's great for your mental health, too! In order to establish direction in your life, it's necessary to get physical._

House was hiding behind the visitor's desk, waiting for Cuddy to leave. She was pulling her arms through her pea coat when House appeared by her side, his breath fogging in a cloud beside her ear as they walked out into the cold November night.

"The shortest distance between two points isn't where your car's parked."

Cuddy looked sideways at him, but didn't shorten her stride. House limped along beside her, promising himself an extra Vicodin if he kept up.

"Did that need more explaining? I meant that you're wearing ridiculous, impractical shoes, which increases the danger of you slipping on ice and needing a handicapped space like me. So you could skip the extra walking and just let me take you home."

"Riding home on your ridiculous, impractical motorcycle increases the danger of me dying, or worse, spending an unnecessary amount of time with a lunatic," Cuddy replied.

"We don't have to go home," House said, ignoring her jibe. "We could go anywhere you'd like. Movies, restaurants, dancing. Except for that last one. But I could watch. I happen to keep a supply of singles on me, just in case you're ever in a dancing mood."

"Why don't you go work on your case," Cuddy said, pulling her keys out of her purse and unlocking her doors.

"It's boring," House said, even though it wasn't. "The kids can handle it tonight."

"Goodbye, House," Cuddy said, getting into her car and closing the door. House stood on the sidewalk and watched as she backed up and drove away.

He took that Vicodin he'd promised himself, and then an extra one for good measure as he limped back towards the handicapped spaces.

**4. Do For Others**

_Being kind to others is one of the surest ways to bring happiness to yourself. Make it a goal to perform one act of kindness a day!_

"So, what's your name?"

A young woman—a girl, really—looked up at him as he limped into her room. He checked her vital signs on the heart monitor. They were normal, and that annoyed him.

"Who are you?" the girl said, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Her brown eyes studied him warily.

"You mean you don't remember me?" House said, widening his eyes. "Your amnesia must be getting worse! I've been treating you all day!"

"You're House," the girl said, and as if to confirm she turned her gaze from House's face to his cane.

"Yep, that's me, the cripple," House said, tapping his cane on the linoleum floor for emphasis. "The question is, who are you, amnesia girl?"

"I don't know," she said, sounding only slightly perturbed by this fact. Interesting.

"Do you know what today is?"

"Of course," she said, rolling her eyes. "There is a TV in my room, you know."

House turned around and saw that she had muted the news. "I can see that. Just not hear it," he said. "Well, it looks like the 'sarcasm' part of your brain is still intact. Just not the 'witty' part. Unless you never had that to begin with."

She didn't say anything, which in House's opinion just proved his point.

"How do you feel? Any nausea, headaches, joint pain?"

"No," she said.

"We gave you B12 earlier in case it was a deficiency causing your memory loss, but there would have been improvement by now. Any chance you've come in contact with carbon monoxide?"

"How would I know?" she said, glaring at him. "I can't tell you anything."

"You sure you're not faking it?" House asked, raising his eyebrow at her. "Because all the tests say you're a big fat faker."

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said. "Maybe you're miserable enough to want to forget your life, but I'm not."

"How do you know?" House countered. "Maybe you are miserable. Maybe once you get your memory back—if you ever do—you'll wish you hadn't."

The girl shrugged. "At least I'll know."

"And they say ignorance is bliss," House said airily. "Well, no one has reported you missing yet. Were you transferred here from the emergency room?"

"Yeah," she said. "The nurses thought I had Transient Global Amnesia, and monitored me for a day. After two they sent me to you."

"Well, that proves you don't have anterograde amnesia," House said.

The girl wrinkled her eyebrows. "What?"

"Anterograde amnesia. Means you can't convert new information to long-term memory. People often get both kinds of amnesia at once. Looks like you got lucky, and you'll be able to treasure memories of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital for years to come."

"Yeah. Lucky for me," she sighed.

House stopped tapping his cane and studied her for a long moment as the memory of Cuddy saying those same words to him flashed through his mind.

"You hungry?" he said finally.

She shrugged.

"Come on. Let's see if anything in the cafeteria jogs your memory," House said, coming around to her bedside and rolling her IV drip towards the door, motioning for her to get up. She did, and soon House found himself sitting down with her in the cafeteria, steadily eating fries as he observed her take a bite out of her cheesecake.

"Well? Anything coming to mind?"

"Not yet," she said, swallowing her bite of cake and getting another forkful. "I'll keep trying, though." She smiled at House from around her fork, and House didn't smile back, but he didn't exactly scowl, either.

**5. Ask For Help**

_Sometimes you can't do it on your own, and you'll need to turn to a trusted friend or family member to lean on. Don't be afraid to ask for help!_

House walked into Wilson's office and settled himself on the couch, crossing his ankles over the far armrest.

"So, how's the patient?" Wilson said, looking up from a file to watch House twirl his cane like a baton. He quickly moved his paperweight out of range.

"No change," House said, stretching his arm so that the end of his cane knocked over the brass globe Wilson had just tried to rescue. "I would ask about your patients, but that wouldn't be interesting, as they're all in varying stages of dead. I bet they wouldn't mind forgetting about that for a while. Too bad amnesia's not contagious, or I'd introduce them to—huh. Introductions might be kinda tricky, actually."

Wilson sighed. "Want to talk about it?"

"I thought I was talking about it," House said. "But the fact that you think I'm not means you're referring to something else. And the only thing you talk about lately is the imaginary relationship you seem to think I have with Cuddy. So in that case my answer is no, I don't want to talk about it."

"Has she mentioned the desk to you?"

House's cane stilled mid-twirl. "Not directly."

Wilson frowned at him. "That's odd. She was beaming about it in her office. I don't think I've ever seen her look so happy."

House shrugged.

"That's not like her to ignore something nice. Especially when it's you, because you inever/i do anything nice."

"I bailed you out of jail."

Wilson snorted. "Exactly."

"I told you she wasn't interested," House said gruffly, and resumed twirling his cane.

To his surprise, Wilson snorted again.

"Yeah. Just because she's not throwing herself all over you because of one grand romantic gesture—"

"She did," House interrupted. "Before the desk, though."

"She did what?" Wilson said, confused.

"She asked me to kiss her," House said, looking steadily at the wall past Wilson's shoulder. "And I sort of—groped her. Instead."

"You _groped Cuddy?"_ Wilson said, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. He shook his head a little, disbelieving. "What did she do?"

House met Wilson's eyes, then looked away quickly. "She said she wasn't surprised, and then she left."

"But then she saw the desk."

"Yeah. I don't think it matters, though."

"House, you called her mom to get it out of storage, and then arranged to have it brought to her office. It matters."

"Not enough."

Wilson sighed. "She opened herself up to you, House. She made herself vulnerable. And you got scared and reacted like a juvenile instead of an adult."

"Gee thanks, Wilson. I'm so glad I have such a supportive BFF."

"You have to prove to her that you're serious," Wilson said, ignoring House's sarcasm. "You know she's right for you. And that freaks you out because you're so certain that you're going to get hurt again. But she's not Stacy."

House met Wilson's eyes. "I know."

"So… go ye forth and woo," Wilson said, offering House a small smile. "It'll work out, House. She likes you. Just don't screw up again."

**6. Do Something Creative**

_Flexing your imagination muscle can help you envision all the exciting new directions your life can take. Do something creative, and let your imagination run wild!_

"Don't bother taking off your coats," House announced, just after Kutner had managed to untangle himself from his jacket and scarf. "Oops, guess I should have told you that sooner."

"What's she doing here?" Taub said, staring pointedly behind House.

"Taub, didn't your mother teach you it's rude to refer to people with pronouns?" House said.

Taub rolled his eyes, and Thirteen asked where they're going as she slid back into her sensible black trench coat.

"To the Batcave!" House said, jingling a set of keys. "Come on, Alfred," he said to Foreman, who rolled his eyes but put on his jacket anyway.

Soon they were in the parking lot, passing House's motorbike and approaching a dark green Mercedes. House pressed a button on the keychain and the doors automatically unlocked.

"Sweet ride. Is this your new car?" Kutner asked, opening the back door and getting in.

"Nope," House said. "Amnesia girl sits up front with me. Thirteen, you'll have to sit on Foreman's lap."

"What?" she asked, startled, her eyes flicking between Foreman and House.

"You heard me," House said, opening the driver's side door. "There's not enough room otherwise. Unless, of course, you'd rather do clinic duty while we go out for a joyride."

Foreman made a shrugging motion and looked at Thirteen, who silently nodded and slid in after Foreman. Kutner sat between Foreman and Taub, and immediately reached forward to turn on the radio.

"Oh no you don't, you little rascal," House said, whacking Kutner's hand out of the way. "The whole purpose of this road trip is to jog mystery girl's memory. She gets to play with the radio."

"Music can help bring back memories," Taub said, directing his explanation to the wide-eyed girl. "If anything comes to mind, let us know."

"Thank you, Dr. Taub," House said seriously, revving the engine.

"House, whose car is this?" Foreman said abruptly.

"Wilson's."

"No it's not," Foreman accused. "I just saw Wilson get out of a black Lexus."

"Busted," House said, spinning out of the parking lot. "All right, you caught me. It's Cuddy's."

"That was nice of her to lend us her car," Kutner said distractedly. He was watching as mystery girl flipped through various radio stations, and seemed satisfied when she settled on a pop station.

"House! You stole Cuddy's keys?" Foreman guessed shrewdly, shifting Thirteen's negligible weight so he could better shout at House. "You're going to get us fired!"

"I think the bigger issue is that I stole her car," House said. "Don't worry, _I'm_ not going to tell her. Are you?"

Foreman drew in a deep breath so he could shout at House to turn around, but suddenly everyone's attention shifted back to the patient.

She was tapping her fingers on the dashboard, humming along to the radio.

**7. Listen to Music or Make Music**

_Music is good for the soul! Listening to or creating music can be therapeutic, and can help you envision your new life course._

Cuddy fumed as Wilson flipped through the radio stations, finally settling on one playing an unfamiliar version of _Jingle Bell Rock_.

"I just don't understand him," she said angrily. "What makes him think he can _steal my car_ and get away with it?"

Wilson put on his turn signal and turned down House's street. He could see Cuddy's car parked in front of House's apartment.

"Well, he knew you wouldn't take his motorbike as revenge," Wilson joked. When Cuddy didn't answer, he sighed and said more seriously, "He _likes_ you, Cuddy. This is what you two do. It's all about dipping each other's pigtails in the inkwell."

"I'm over it," Cuddy snapped. "I'm over _him_."

"No you're not," Wilson said. "I was there when you saw the desk, remember? Your face lit up like a Christmas tree."

Cuddy flushed. "You weren't there afterwards," she muttered.

Wilson's brow knit in confusion. "What happened afterwords? It didn't explode, did it?"

"I went to find House to thank him, and I saw him in his office with some woman."

"Some woman?" Wilson said. "Like a patient?"

"No. Like a tall, blonde, tattooed woman who was all over him."

"Wait—House was kissing her?" Wilson said as he turned off his engine.

"Practically," Cuddy said. "I don't know why I didn't expect it."

"Cuddy, House isn't seeing anyone."

"He might not be seeing her, but he's definitely sleeping with her."

"I think you're wrong," Wilson said. "Look… why don't you just talk to him? You have to see him to get your keys back anyway."

Cuddy sighed. "I know. Thanks for the ride, Wilson."

"Anytime."

She shut the door behind her and watched as Wilson drove away, then walked up to House's door and rang the bell.

"You rang?" House said, opening the door for her. Cuddy glared at him and made no move to enter his apartment.

"Just give me my keys, House."

"I don't have them," House said. "You'll have to come inside while I look for them."

Cuddy had no choice but to follow him inside. She was surprised to see the living room dominated by a grand piano, and even more surprised when House sat down and began playing.

"House, I don't have time—" she started, but stopped when she realized what House was playing. _Ode to Joy._

She sat down heavily on his couch and closed her eyes.

**8. Talk to Someone**

_Opening up to another person can be a cathartic experience. Share your experiences and see how another's input can enrich your life._

"And then I gave her the keys, and she left."

"That's it?" Wilson said.

"No, I left out the part where she got naked and began riding me on top of my piano."

"House…" Wilson said hesitantly. "Were you with a woman earlier this week?"

"I don't think amnesia girl counts as a woman, regardless of her great rack."

"Cuddy said she saw you in your office with a blonde woman," Wilson said slowly. "She was on her way to thank you for the desk, but you seemed… busy."

House looked at Wilson in confusion. "You mean the hooker?"

Wilson put his face in his hands. "Oh God. It _was_ a hooker."

"I was paying her to play a prank on Taub and Kutner," House said. "I didn't sleep with her."

Wilson looked up. "Really?"

"I'm insulted. I can't believe you and Cuddy both assumed I was paying her for sex."

"Right. I can see how your frequent hooker references would disabuse us of that notion."

"Cuddy seriously thought I slept with her?" House said, and Wilson nodded. "Huh. This week suddenly makes much more sense."

**9. Get Involved**

_Don't be afraid to throw yourself into projects. Take a chance and get involved!_

"It's not an infection," Thirteen said.

"It's not mercury poisoning," Foreman added.

"And she has a healthy BMI and no signs of alcoholism," Kutner said.

"No trauma," Taub said. "Or plastic surgery."

"Well, there went the CIA theory," House said, crossing it off the board. That left "Amnesia" and "Apathy" left as symptoms.

"We should send her to a psych ward," Taub continued. "Her memory loss obviously isn't related to a physical problem. She must have suffered severe psychological trauma. She needs a psychiatrist, not a diagnosis."

"But she's just beginning to remember!" House said. "She hummed at least two whole bars of _Give It To Me._"

"We're wasting our time, and hers," Foreman said. "Taub's right."

House looked at the board, and then back at his team. "Still no match for missing persons?"

Kutner shook his head.

"We should go talk to Cameron," House said. "See if she said anything in the ER that could help."

Foreman looked at House in confusion. "The patient was never in the ER. She was transferred here from Princeton General."

House blinked, and then smiled slowly. "Looks like we have another symptom," he said, turning towards the board, where he wrote "Confabulation."

"False memories?" Kutner said.

"Yep," House said. "Which means she has Korsakoff's Syndrome."

"A thiamine deficiency?" Thirteen said. "But she's not anorexic, or an alcoholic."

"She is apathetic, though," Kutner said. "And if House is right, she has aneterogade and retrograde amnesia."

"The most common causes of Korsakoff's Syndrome are malnutrition and alcoholism, and since she doesn't have the DTs or any signs of poisoning—"

"It means we have to look at the iuncommon/i causes of Korsakoff's," House interrupted.

"The only other cause is pregnancy," Thirteen said. "Hyperemesis gravidarum."

"Severe morning sickness," House said. "Only trouble is, our patient isn't pregnant, and she isn't throwing up."

"Which means it isn't Korsakoff's!" Foreman said.

"No, it means our mystery girl has been to Japan recently," House corrected. "The bite of the Mukade Centipede can cause Korsakoff's in patients with no other risk factors. Put her on an IV with thiamine and wait for signs of improvement. Then we can send her to the psych ward till she remembers her name, and whether daddy ever touched her in inappropriate places."

"You're basing your entire diagnosis on the off chance she went to Japan and got bitten by a centipede," Foreman said incredulously.

"It fits," House said. "Give her the IV and stuff her full of foods with B1. If she improves, I'm right. If she doesn't, she'll just get really tired of eating kale and pork liver for a while."

Three hours later, House had Foreman sign the discharge papers.

**10. Make Peace with Yourself**

_Realize that no matter how proactive you are in taking control of your life, there will always be things beyond your control. Forgive yourself when you fail, and recognize that there is always tomorrow._

Wilson watched from the front seat of his car as Cuddy came out of the hospital, House just behind her.

It wasn't that late in the evening, but it was already dark out and the only light came from the streetlights in the parking lot and the soft glow filtering between blinds in patient windows.

Wilson could just make out Cuddy's expression as House grabbed her arm. She was defensive, and she said something that made House stop short.

Wilson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt like a voyeur, but he was too riveted to look away. He slouched lower in his chair.

House was leaning in towards Cuddy, his face serious. The snow fall gathered in small white flakes in his hair, and the fog from Cuddy's breath seemed to cling to them.

Wilson leaned forward.

The fog from Cuddy's breath slowly dissipated. Whatever House had said to her, he'd surprised her into not breathing.

And then House kissed her.

Wilson pumped his fist in the air, shouted "YES!", and then brought his elbow crashing down on his horn.

House and Cuddy jumped apart, looking wildly around the parking lot till they saw Wilson staring sheepishly from behind his steering wheel.

House gave him a sarcastic thumb's up, and Wilson waved to Cuddy before starting his car and making a quick getaway.

He grinned into the rearview mirror as House leaned down to kiss Cuddy again, the snow swirling dramatically around them.

Wilson put on his windshield wipers, then opened his glovebox. He stuffed the rest of the brochures inside.

**The End**

**Author's Note: Feedback is good karma! All comments and concrit are very, very appreciated :)**


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